Little Bird
by Mini Peacelet
Summary: Random little one-shot about Connie after Grace decides she wants to live with Audrey.


_**A/N: **This is a really random idea I had, sort of inspired by Heather Peace's Little Bird. It's about Connie and set from last Saturday's episode (10.01.15) after Grace decides she wants to live with Audrey. I'd love to know what you think?㈺4_

_~Mini Peacelet~_

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><p>Little Bird.<p>

_'I want to move. I don't want to live with you. I want to live with Audrey.'_

I step into my house and the atmosphere is instantly different to usual. It's quiet and bitterly cold. Vacant. Audrey and Grace have returned before me and collected the possessions the girl required - Audrey had even tidied up as well, which is making everything a whole lot worse than it already is. If that's even possible. The clutter of Grace's that was once scattered around my modern home has vanished. Everything is neat and in precise order.

It's too quiet. Way too quiet. Silence. Even when I wasn't physically in my daughter's company, the television or her music reverberating the background was always present. Now, you cannot even perceive the single drip of a tap. I'm alone; so very lonely. I naively took her for granted.

It's true what they say; you don't appreciate what you have completely until you lose it. And that's exactly what has happened. I've lost her. I've lost my daughter, the most precious thing in the world. Grace is my world. And now she's gone. Not forever but the reality is rapidly penetrating that my baby girl is no longer living with me and prefers her grandmother over her own mother. It hurts; it really _fucking_ hurts.

To add to my dreadfully rubbish day, I've learnt that Hailey Blake is partially responsible for this entire situation. She is the reason for the supplementary, unnecessary strain that has been inflicted upon Gracie and mine's relationship. Our now broken relationship. I'm punishing myself for not fathoming her role in all of this earlier, she warned me that she would make my life hell - and indeed she has. My anger and hatred towards the woman is accumulating.

Drowning; I'm plummeting cavernously, submerging in my crushing emotions. Misery. Anguish. Rage. Guilt. The list of emotions is endless, all twisted into a complex turmoil. I drop my handbag to the floor, kick off my favourite pair of Louboutins without an ounce of respect and shrug off my coat, tossing it over the banister.

I climb the stairs leisurely, my legs are heavy as though someone has attached a pile of bricks to each of my feet. My hand hovers wistfully on the handle of Grace's bedroom door momentarily before I inhale a sharp breath of oxygenated air and allow my lungs to be filled with the substance they crave and I enter. The frigid conditions that bask the house have reached an increased level of solitary and gloom.

I pad into her bedroom and slowly sit down on the end of her perfectly made bed, scanning the room that is spotlessly tidy. A single teardrop surfaces and rolls down my cheek as I comprehend exactly how lonely the house is without my darling Gracie. I grasp my phone with my trembling fingers and scroll through my contacts until I reach her name, then press dial. It goes straight to the answer phone and the hot tears spill down my cheeks, streaking my black jet mascara against my neutral foundation.

I dash down the stairs, my vision is a blurry haze from the tears that continue to tumble down my face, and into the kitchen where I snatch hold of a bottle of lavish wine, popping the cork out and downing a large quantity. It burns the back of my throat but it soon starts to numb every one of my negative emotions, quite what I desire. My legs buckle beneath me and I plummet to the kitchen floor. My head is becoming fuzzier with every drop of red wine I consume and I can no longer think straight. The reminiscing memories, stress and thoughts have vanished temporarily. I'm at peace with myself for the time being.

And the following morning I find myself perch on the edge of my leather, swivel chair with my petite hands clasped around a coffee machine cappuccino that I occasionally swallow a sip from, I stare vacantly out of the window in my office. All my problems have come flashing back with a spiteful vengeance. The caffeine beverage is gradually engulfing my grim hangover but I don't even care how rough or vulnerable I am feeling and correspondingly looking because I deserve to feel like _shit_. I pushed my daughter away, prioritising my career, and treating her like a member of staff. I merit everything that currently comes my way regarding family.

A cluster of birds that have assembled outside, scratching the crisp ground and squabbling for food captures my eye. With nothing else to seize my attention, I futilely watch the birds. It's a group of pigeons surrounding a little dove, fighting for the breakfast the dove has obtained and looks in desperate need of.

The little bird flies off eventually, abandoning his meal, and lands on my window ledge. The dove is in poor condition, posture forlorn. But he starts to sing, chirping a melodious tune. He may have been the odd one out and not the most attractive, but he certainly had the sweetest song. The little bird sings a lullaby and hops around the ledge, because he's happy to be alive and thankful for what he has, living life while he still can.

I compose myself with my professional game face and regain my equilibrium, pacing into my chaotic emergency department. Grace is happier with her Grandma, so therefore I have to accept that and also be happy because it is what my little girl wanted.


End file.
